CS Sick AU
by itsalostgirlthing
Summary: Killian, delirious and sick, confesses to loving Emma. (A Tumblr prompt I wrote a while ago)


_Tumblr Prompt - CS Sick AU_

* * *

Emma knocked softly on the wooden frame of the door. She could just barely make out a mess of hair, dark clumps sticking up at all ends, huddled underneath piles of comforters. The whole room was silent and still, so when she spoke, her voice came out only as a whisper, not wanting to disturb it.

"Knock, knock," she said, testing to see if he was asleep—he hadn't returned any of her calls and she was worried, but Killian mumbled a pained, 'Hey, love' and turned around to face her.

He looked miserable, the color drained from his face and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Shit, Killian," she said and crossed the room, dragging a chair to his bedside. "How long have you been like this?"

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Set on sometime yesterday."

"Why didn't you call me?" she huffed and placed the back of her hand to his forehead, jerking it back like if she'd let it rest any longer, it'd scorch her. "You're burning up."

"Funny, because I can't stop shivering. I didn't want to worry you."

"Yeah. Fever's will do that," she said wryly. He snuggled deeper into his pillow as she pulled his blankets up higher for him. He was so adorable sometimes, Emma thought to herself and smiled. "That's it, Mr. Tough Guy. You're on bedrest."

He smirked. "Does this mean you're going to put on one of those little—"

"Don't even say it." She raised an eyebrow. "Sick or not, I can still smack you. Probably would hurt ten times more, too."

He peeked up at her with those baby blue eyes shining brightly in the light streaming in from the hallway.

"I'm going to head to the store before they close," she said quietly, not breaking eye contact. The humor on her face melted away and concern—and love—replaced it.

Yeah, it was time to go. She needed air and needed to get out of there before her cover was blown.

Because Emma Swan was in love with her best friend. Little did she know that Killian Jones was in love with her, too.

* * *

"Sit up and take these," Emma directed, but Killian protested like a little kid, refusing to leave the comfort of his still-too-cold cocoon. He knew it was better than being out in, what he felt was, the frigid air.

"Killian," she warned. "I'm not fooling around. You need to take this."

"But it's _cold_," he whined.

"Killian Jones. Sit up and take your damn medicine."

He sighed and after a little rustling, managed to bring his cocoon up with him; the blanket wrapped around him and covering his head. He leaned on her for balance, feeling too weak to sit up on his own.

"You're so dramatic sometimes."

"You know," he said, a tired smirk returning to his face after he handed her back the glass of water. "Blankets are nothing compared to body heat—"

"I'm making tea," she said, promptly getting up and going toward the kitchen.

He chuckled lightly and she rolled her eyes back at him for show, but couldn't fight the smile creeping onto her face as she walked away.

They'd always joked like this, but it wasn't until recently that it would affect her so much.

* * *

The next day, Killian only got worse. His fever was still running high and she just couldn't get him to sit up long enough to drink water. It'd taken her a lot longer to get to his apartment that night with work so busy and now, with a sleepy smile on his face, he was telling her how much he missed her.

"Missed you, too," she laughed. It was a nervous laughter because he was holding her hand with no intention of letting it go. He closed his eyes, his face half-buried into his pillow.

"You're so perfect."

"I think someone's getting delirious—" she said quickly, but he interrupted her.

"I love you." Her heart stopped and she felt a cold shiver run up her arm like his touch had sent a shockwave straight to her heart.

"Love ya, too," she said stiffly, giving him a tight-lipped smile that went unseen. The goofy smile on his lips only broadened when he pulled her hand to him and rested his warm cheek on it.

"No, I really love you," he mumbled sleepily.

"Yeah, well, we'll see how you feel in the morning, buddy."

He murmured something incoherent, but she managed to catch the word 'love' again and her name 'Emma Swan' tangled up in there.

She let him fall back asleep before slipping her hand back, and crept to the door, closed it, and leaned back against it.

_'He's delirious. He's sick. Yeah, he's just sick,'_ she repeated in her mind even after she turned off all the lights, locked up, and started to drive home.

* * *

Emma was exhausted the next day. She had stayed with Killian until eleven o'clock at night, finally getting home and in bed around midnight, and was up six and a half hours later for more than a full day's worth of work. It didn't stop her from going to the grocery store and picking up some things.

He could see the tiredness in her eyes and urged her to go home and sleep.

"Swan, this really isn't necessary. I'm fine, I'm better, see?" Killian reassured her, proving it back sitting up on his own, letting the blankets fall around him.

"I'm making soup," she said, ignoring him. She searched for a pot to make him chicken soup—from scratch. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

It's not that she was a bad cook, there'd been plenty of times when she and Killian would turn on the food network and pretend to be iron chefs for the night, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't fond of her menu of speed-dialed food delivery services. But Killian was sick. He needed her and she wanted to be there for him.

She loved him, but she was too scared to jeopardize their friendship—even if said friend may have or may not have confessed to feeling the same way about her.

"You're going to be bloody exhausted for work if you don't go home now," he said later when she finally returned to his room. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"I know, I know, sorry for getting here late," she said, ignoring his protests again. "I had to do some last minute files that took longer than I thought they would."

"And why is that?" he laughed weakly. "It wouldn't have anything to do with you spending all you energy here taking care of a sick _friend_, now would it?" Why did he say friend like that? Like it hurt him to say it—_'Don't get ahead of yourself, Emma.'_

"Doesn't matter. Now eat," she smiled comfortingly, handing him his soup.

"You're bloody amazing," he said.

"Save it for after you eat. Hope it works. Mom said it would."

"_'Mom?'_ If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're hitting it off with your parents."

"We're… Getting there," she said. They both remembered the day clearly.

Killian had almost dropped the groceries in his arms when he found Emma fiddling with the extra key he'd given her, red-eyed and a little mascara smudged, sitting on his couch. She looked so broken and confused, so he immediately ran to her side and took her into his arms, not even needing to hear what happened.

Like Emma now, he just wanted her to know someone was there for her. Earlier that day, Emma had found her birth mother and father, and they were wonderful people who would've made wonderful parents.

"You don't have to do this. You get up at six in the morning, go get some sleep—"

"Killian, it's Friday. Relax. I ran over to my place earlier and grabbed an overnight bag."

"You can't sleep on that couch; it's bloody awful."

"You're such a baby. I've done it before, I'll be fine. Stop worrying about me, and worry about yourself. Now eat," she commanded.

* * *

"How're you doing?" she asked, checking his fever again.

"Fantastic. I'm still sick, albeit not as sick, but still making you take care of me."

"You're not _making_ me do anything." She rolled her eyes, a gentle smile still on her face. "Couldn't even if you wanted to."

"Don't I know it," he laughed weakly. They both ate in silence, sitting up side by side against his headboard watching commercials play. She felt the tension between them, but it wasn't until he spoke that she wished for the uncomfortable silence back.

"About last night…" he started.

"Huh? I don't know what you're talking about," she answered too quickly.

"Emma…"

"It was nothing." She stared down at her bowl of soup, but the flicker of hurt she saw flash across his features out of the corner of her eye pulled her gaze back up. "Or no…?" she asked uncertainly. She felt hope bloom in her chest, her heartbeat pumping faster.

"I—uh." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my…" was all he said.

"Killian." She tried to catch his stare, but he kept looking everywhere in the room except at her.

"Don't feel like you have to—I mean, I know that you—" he was stammering and she felt the corners of her lips tug up at how adorable he was being under pressure.

He _did_ mean it.

"I don't want this to ruin our friendship if that's not what you—" She stopped his words with a press of her lips against his. He froze, but after a few seconds, he angled his head to deepen it, hoping it wasn't some delusion or dream of his. They parted, foreheads resting against each other, when he went in for a second one.

"That was…" he breathed out.

"Something I would've done a long time ago if you hadn't kept this all to yourself."

"If _I_ hadn't kept it to myself? Look who's talking, love. Or better yet, who_wasn't_talking—"

She cut him off with her lips again, the two of them smiling against one another.

* * *

"I wish I wasn't sick because I'd really like to kiss you again," he smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as they laid side by side.

"Well…" she said playfully, scooting closer to him. "I do get paid sick leaves."

"No, Emma. Wait. You don't want to—"

She gripped his t-shirt and pulled him to her, closing the gap between them. His protests died on his tongue when she ran her own over his bottom lip; a deep growl resonating from his throat.

They'd waited so long for this moment. All the tension—the soft, burning touches; the intensity of their gazes; the brush of his hand against hers when they walked down the crowded streets; him wishing he would just take it and her praying that he would. All of this was released in this, one of the firsts of many kisses to come, and it was magical how light their hearts felt.

He broke away first, both of them taking in deep shaky breaths followed by light laughter. It'd finally happened and though it wasn't the most romantic of circumstances, it was theirs—and it was full of care for each other.

"So, about that couch. It's horribly uncomfortable and as a gentleman—"

Emma jerked back and tilted her head away, letting out a sneeze that Killian would have considered cute if it were under any other circumstances than this.

"I told you," Killian groaned, rolling his eyes at her glare.

"Shut up," Emma replied.

"I love you, Ems," said Killian after a moment of caressing her cheek with his thumb, marveling at his freedom to show her just how special and precious she was to him. She stared into his eyes, loving the way they watched her like she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. His blue eyes shined with affection and she said the words that had been replaying over and over in her head for more than a year.

"I love y—" She sneezed again.

"Bloody hell."


End file.
